


i wanna break you down (brick by brick)

by breenwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breenwolf/pseuds/breenwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of two assholes who wait until they're thousands of miles apart to get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna break you down (brick by brick)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendigay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendigay/gifts).



> for leila because i love her xoxo. you can come chill with me on [tumblr](http://breenwolf.tumblr.com) if ya wanna see more stuff like this (and by "like this" i mean low quality and rushed as hell!!! hahahAHhHAHa)

"Oh, wow, huh, you actually picked up - "

It's fitting, really, that the first time Stiles calls him, Derek's got a mouthful of Easy Mac and last April's issue of Star magazine open on his lap (the address label reads ERICA E. REYES but Derek pays for the subscription, so).

"What is it?" he asks sharply. 

" - I gotta be honest, I wasn't really, uh, expecting that."

He could do it, Derek knows - stare listlessly at the powered off TV with his eyebrows raised, riding the last of his patience through very, very quickly as Stiles danced around the point.

Instead he interjects: "Stiles," he says. " _What_ do you _need_?"

"A tie break," Stiles says like it's something he does all the time, call Derek up for _decision making_.

A stiff silence draws out over the line.

When Stiles doesn't explain himself, Derek prompts, "A tie break for what, exactly?"

"Hypothetically speaking," and - _God_ \- this is legitimately the _last_ way Derek wants to spend his Friday night. Talking hypotheticals with Stiles Stilinski. _Joy_.

" - like, let's say that a person - just a dude. Any dude. Or a girl, I mean, I guess that could work, too."

"A person," Derek supplies.

"Yeah, right. A person. Let's say a person is, in theory, you know - a virgin."

"A virgin," Derek echoes flatly.

"You know - of the not-yet-having-sex-but-interested-in-having-sex-in-the-future variety."

"I know what a virgin is, Stiles."

"What? Oh, yeah - like, yeah. I knew that. Anyway. In the event that a dude - "

"Person," Derek corrects snidely, and _dammit_ if Stiles's surpised laugh doesn't get a smirk out of him.

"Do you think phone sex counts as sex-sex? Like, if they wanted to, say, get rid of said virginity? That they might, possibly... have?" Stiles asks, getting it all out at last. Like ripping off a BAND-AID... after psyching yourself out over the hypothetical pain for fifteen minutes first.

It's hard to make himself answer when suddenly Derek can barely make himself breathe.

"You had to call me at one in the morning to ask about this?" he manages.

"Because, see, Scott and Boyd say no, but Isaac and I aren't so sure."

"Right," Derek says weakly.

"So we were just, you know, Skyping about it, and I figured - hey, there's a fifth member of this little party that probably has an opinion on the subject. Why not ask him, right?"

"At one in the morning."

"Uh-huh."

Well. That's - that's something. That's... something.

"And, before you ask, Lydia says no, but Allison says yes. And Danny isn't answering my texts, so."

"Last resort?" Derek asks.

He takes Stiles's silence for the _yes_ it most likely is and sighs.

"No," he says finally. "It doesn't count. Is that it?"

" _Really?_ " Stiles demands, his voice going sharp and challenging immediately. "Like, you don't think it's kind of the same thing? Like, cmon. Sex is sex is sex."

"It doesn't work that way," Derek insists.

"Uh, pretty sure it does. Like, if two people watch each other jerk off, that's sex, right?"

Is it? Derek's not totally sure about that. He's got a hazy idea of where the line is for what is sex and what is not sex, and he's about seventy-three percent positive that touching should be involved at least a little bit.

"And phone sex is a lot like that, right? But without the, uh, watching. More of the listening, really." A beat. " _Only_ the listening, actually."

"Right," Derek says vaguely.

"But, hey," Stiles says with a shaking laugh. "What do I know, right? It's not like I've ever had phone sex."

It's out of his mouth before Derek can think to stop himself: "I haven't either."

The silence between them is tense again. Derek counts the breaths he would take if he could make himself breathe while he listens to Stiles inhale-exhale-swallow through the phone.

"Oh," Stiles says finally.

Derek says, more softly than he means to, "Yeah."

"But it would - I mean - it's, you know."

No, Derek has absolutely no idea what Stiles is dancing around now. He's not even going to try.

He says "yeah" anyway.

Stiles chokes around a laugh, and he must have a hand over his mouth or he must be rubbing at his nose because his voice sounds muffled when he says, "Oh my god, _smooth_ , Stilinski."

Derek, catching on slowly but surely, says, "Stiles, was there really a tie?"

"Like, three days ago, yeah," Stiles admits. "But Erica broke it."

That's it, Derek guesses. As close as either of them are going to come to addressing the fact of this past summer: the way Stiles had spent his late afternoons stretched out over Derek's couch reading magazines and talking to the room at large about theoretical future attacks on Beacon Hills, the way Derek had thrown away a sizeable fraction of his savings on fast food for two, the way Stiles had idled in the parking lot for eleven minutes after saying "see you later," on Derek's doorstep before heading off for his freshman year of college.

"Stiles," he says, his breath shaking, and Stiles swallows again.

"That's my name," he jokes, his voice weak but warm. Derek can hear him lick his lips through the phone, can hear him pacing along the hard floor of his dorm room if he focuses.

He focuses.

"Tell me," he says.

A sharp exhale through the line - then - then -

"God," Stiles chokes out. "You don't - you don't even _know_."

Derek already has a hand on his fly, so he probably has a pretty good idea, actually. He spends most of his nights active - patroling, grocery shopping, catching up on inane celebrity gossip to remind himself he's ultimately a nameless, faceless person in a sea of billions (a thought that's wildly comforting considering how many times he's been Enemy Number One in the past five years) - but his days have become a stupor of _StilesStilesStiles_ between the radio settings in his car and the snacks in his pantry and the lines etched into his sheets where Derek has lost himself day after day, arching into his fist and sweating and panting and wanting.

"Then _tell me_ ," Derek urges, making himself slow down, making himself move his hand to rest on his thigh and wait.

"You know, the bossy thing? _Totally_ not sexy."

"Really," Derek says with a smirk pulling at his lips. He's not buying that for a second.

"Yeah, it's your _constant consideration_ of my needs that I've been missing all this time," Stiles answers, his tone dry. Derek can practically _hear_ his smirk. "Your _gentleness_ , even." There's a rustling sound on the other end of the phone.

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, it's not like I _-_ - _ah-_ \- think about your whole _Alpha_ schtick, like, ever."

"Never," Derek echoes, and he runs his fingers along the inseam of his jeans.

He's - he's never really let himself think about it, honestly. About being able to be that way with Stiles. With anyone, really, if he's being honest. Stiles has long fingers and a nice mouth and that's been enough - that's been plenty for Derek. Plenty for his imagination.

But he thinks about it now because Stiles has said it and it's impossible to not think about it as soon as it's out there: about roughing him up a little bit, with permission, with _encouragement_. About curling his fingers under Stiles's thighs, hiking him up, throwing him against a wall or onto a bed and _devouring_ him. Putting his mouth to the sensitive skin of Stile's inner thighs, where he's probably paler than he is anywhere else. Biting him, maybe. Just a little.  
If that's okay.

"I," Derek's brain shortcircuits for a moment. He says, "I wanted you in my bed all summer," in a moment of honesty that cuts a little too close.

Stiles starts to laugh, breathless, but it edges into a moan towards the end of it. "God, I wanted to _be_ in your bed all summer. Why wasn't I in your bed all summer, Derek?"

There are a thousand and one good, solid answers to that question - all of them responsible ones, too, but Derek couldn't give less of a damn about them right now if he tried.

"I don't know," he admits. Stiles snorts like Derek's the biggest dumbass on the planet (which he likely thinks is the case, honestly).

Then, in a low voice that goes straight to Derek's groin, he says, "You came home early that last day. You weren't supposed to do that."

Derek holds his breath and waits it out, but his body is impatient enough already; he unbuttons his pants, unzips them too, and perches the phone between his shoulder and ear as he shimmies them down his thighs.

"I had a plan, you know," Stiles continues plainly, like he's talking about the freaking weather, like they both don't know he's got a hand on his cock thousands of miles away from Derek when he should be stretched out for Derek to see and smell and taste. "A going-away gift, sorta."

"I'm pretty sure the person _going away_ gets those," says Derek.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles says. "The plan was me, jerking it in your bed when you walked in -"

The strangled moan that leaves Derek, then, isn't something he could have ever stopped. He gets a hand around himself and sighs, closes his eyes and folds in on himself in relief. It's ridiculous, he knows, a grown man with his pants half-down, his sweater still on, a cup of Easy Mac on the arm of his couch, having this strange in between of phone-sex and not-phone-sex. (Talk about a line he's hazy on.)

Stiles's breaths are coming faster. He says, "Tell me that wouldn't have ended in an excellent going-away gift for me."

"That wouldn't have ended," Derek says sharply, full-stop. "I would have kept you in my bed for days. You would have had to reschedule your flight."

" _Worth it_."

Stiles says, "So, is it really phone sex if you don't talk to me at all about my dick?" and Derek, surprised and a little stunned, goes silent. "I mean, I can let you off the hook this time, since you've never seen it. But since we're having phone sex here - and, I mean, it's totally phone sex right? This is, I mean, I'm getting off. Are you getting off? Please tell me you're getting off or this is going to get really embarrassing, really fast."

 _Really embarrassing, really fast_ is pretty much exactly what Derek's thinking, considering he's rolling his hips in insistant jerks, fucking into the loose ring of his fist, trying to imagine it's Stiles, Stiles's hands and Stiles's fingers - trying but failing because Derek's aren't long enough, not thin enough, a little too soft and his skin not pale enough and his knuckles not knobby enough.

"I wish I could see you," Derek says in a quiet voice, and Stiles answers with a strangled sound. An ominous sounding _thu-thump_ comes through the line, followed by a crashing of something.

"Jesus Christ!" more crashes. Then: "Oh my god, your sex voice almost just killed me. That was a thing that almost just happened. Very nearly, definitely."

It takes him a second to gather his wits, but Derek manages to throw whatever caution he has for this scenario to the wind, and suddenly he's -

"I thought about it today, you know," he says, curling his fist a little tighter, pushing into it more slowly, more deliberately. "Getting you in my bed, spreading your legs, and tasting every inch of you."

Stiles wheezes like he's actually choking. " _Derek_ ," he says. He catches on quickly enough though, clears his throat with a cough and says, "I can't decide if I want to suck your cock first or if I want you to suck mine."

Derek swears - loudly.

"I think I want your mouth on me first, though," Stiles admits. "It's been a repeat fantasy for a while now."

"I think about your fingers in me," Derek admits.

"God, me too. I think about it _all_ the time. I literally cannot stop thinking about it. Jesus, I bet you'd look amazing opening up for me."

"Your - your mouth on my cock and your fingers inside of me," Derek says, his throat dry and his voice edging a little towards cracking. "That - that's what I want."

"Yesyesyes," Stiles agrees, panting. "When I fuck you, I want to pull your hair."

When, Derek thinks, and - shit - his grip is slick and warm and exactly what he wants it to be when Stiles touches him. When Stiles yanks his head back by his hair and makes him come.

"I want to bend you over the arm of my couch and rim you until your knees give out."

Stiles gasps a little before saying, "I've - I've never - "

"It'd be good, Stiles, it'd be so good. I'd make it good for you."

It's one of the few promises he's confident he can keep, and the image it paints in his mind - of Stiles, completely wrecked, his skin red and splotchy and his legs shaking as he falls against the couch cushions, loose and pliant - _ready_ , Derek thinks wildly. _Ready._

"You never - you never make _anything_ good for me," Stiles accuses. "God, you're such an asshole."

"This - " Derek says harshly, trying to express just how much he wants all at once. "This. I'd be good at it. For you. With you."

"Yeah," Stiles hums, "Yeah, I - I know. What you mean."

From there, it's too much to keep talking. With his eyes closed, his heartbeat and Stiles's wet, needy gasps in his ear - it's enough to slip into the fantasy of them, slip into the tight pull of his own hand and chase his own pleasure right to orgasm.

He comes messily, spilling over his fingers and hissing as his toes curl so tightly he thinks they might _break_ , and he counts his breaths - one, two, three, four - until Stiles follows, Derek's name on his lips.

They breathe, then, heavily and out of sync but _together_ nonetheless.

Eventually Stiles says, "Oh my god, how could anyone _not_ count that as sex?" and Derek doesn't have the energy to laugh, but he manages a sharp exhale in the attempt.

He's quiet, otherwise.

"So, uh," Stiles says a few seconds later. "It's only twenty-two days until fall break, so, I was thinking - "

"Yeah," Derek says. "Anything you want."

"Oh." He sounds surprised. Then: "Cool. Cool."

"Yeah."

"So, I'm just gonna - go - uh - get cleaned up."

Derek hums in agreeance.

"Yeah. So. Uh. Goodnight?"

In his lonely little loft back in Beacon Hills, with a cold cup of Easy Mac and nothing but an endless stack of magazines and his own imagination to keep him occupied, Derek smiles at the blank TV screen. "Goodnight, Stiles," he says warmly.

"See you later, Derek."


End file.
